


recruitment

by futile_devices



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Novelization, and it barely even has any, but also. knights and lords with dark and light affinities is the same, i guess??, i hope this isnt just. rewashed of my other bastards, i just realized that like. the last content for this pairing was a year ago, i named percevals horse i love her she is a sweetie, i put off all my other wips for this im so sorry, im jus writing over the recruitment scene, im putting this in front of the void, my dumbass prose, so take this as you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 17:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futile_devices/pseuds/futile_devices
Summary: “perceval” elffin- no, prince mildain starts, and even amongst the clamor of battle resounding around them, it is met by an absolute silence. no titles, even if those are becoming of the both of them. no longer, the bard had whispered on the brink of death, and for now, he thinks, they may be without. it is a name he has wished to speak, in longing for times far behind them, simpler ones, of boys about the castle, finding times to sneak and be alone, away from all such responsibilities (even if the knight would readily accept them with an ease, but both elffin and mildain wish the two could simply be men). the lance is held to him at first, some righteous fury initially in the knight’s eyes, but it falls nearly the moment that mildain speaks (and oh he has missed this too). but the weapon is still drawn. mildain will forgive him for this, of course. mildain will forgive perceval of anything he has done in only the most blessed of loyalty and anguish. “it is good to see you again.” for the year gone without the other, mildain smiles, small and sweet, enough to say i’ve missed you for an eternity.





	recruitment

the war seems to pause. every fighter still, even as they move and blades clash and magic fires, the world is still. all thoughts of the little runaway dragon girl slip from elffin’s mind, swept away with the waters of aquleia, as if they never were there. for a second, he is alive again, in that sight of his knight, he is that prince again as the world stills, a measure of the past, but a memory. a memory, he knows, that he is not foolish enough to live again. the ebony armor, he could never misremember, he knows the dip of each curve, how the moonlight casts its light upon it, and the clasps on the sides, he knows it even if he had never worn it, never rose a hand to it. he knows it just as well as he knows that violet shroud, falling from perceval’s shoulders, has found a home in it in the cold of night when he was too preoccupied to remember to cover himself, can even feel it wrap around his body, warm. he knows, even better, perhaps the one thing in the entire world that he knows the best, eyes of that dark brown, the earth from which all life springs from, knows how cold they may seem in surveying the land, but mildain has seen their softened gaze. 

but it is perceval’s mare who notices elffin first. ears perked and the nodding of her head towards him. without even the tug of his reins, blanchefleur trots towards elffin (he always thought that name was ironic; white flower for a black horse). the knight upon her attempts to pull the way back, but blanche continues until she reaches elffin. 

the knight stares, silver lance extends out towards the bard, but he does not flinch away from it. he merely stares back, searching for any familiarity in the countenance he could trace even when his sight failed him. 

“perceval” elffin- no, prince mildain starts, and even amongst the clamor of battle resounding around them, it is met by an absolute silence. no titles, even if those are becoming of the both of them. no longer, the bard had whispered on the brink of death, and for now, he thinks, they may be without. it is a name he has wished to speak, in longing for times far behind them, simpler ones, of boys about the castle, finding times to sneak and be alone, away from all such responsibilities (even if the knight would readily accept them with an ease, but both elffin and mildain wish the two could simply be men). the lance is held to him at first, some righteous fury initially in the knight’s eyes, but it falls nearly the moment that mildain speaks (and oh he has missed this too). but the weapon is still drawn. mildain will forgive him for this, of course. mildain will forgive perceval of anything he has done in only the most blessed of loyalty and anguish. “it is good to see you again.” for the year gone without the other, mildain smiles, small and sweet, enough to say i’ve missed you for an eternity. 

and mildain thinks himself lucky that his sight has graced him now. “have you forgotten my face?” teasing, but in the way the knight knows him to be. he has always known him. 

 

the knight’s eyes are kept stern, and cold, but mildain can see how his fingers loosen against the pole of his lance. perhaps he should not have been too teasing, after all, he should very well be rotting in his grave right now. perceval’s voice is low, hushed, and it could be the most silent of blades of grass dropping to the floor, but mildain could hear it nonetheless. of course, of course, hesitation is not be seen or heard or sensed from the knight general, especially on the field of battle. “no…it cannot be. the prince…is dead.” but that could little matter to a dead man, could it? and certainly not the dead prince who is his hope, now renewed. 

but in speaking of that waning faith, that hopeless night from which all the stars faded with one silent memory. unwavering loyalty to what? etruria was not the land it was before, courtly politics taking over, hidden deals and near coups, and a sickly king. the land he imagined it was far different, the land he could make it, so dear and close, but missing the most vital part. it had not been a lie, his words to douglas, for he could never, that his heart no longer beats so strongly and confidently. some deficiency in his character, no, nor his strength or resolution, but what it if it had? what does the future sing for then? 

mildain looks away for a moment, trailing over the mountains, peaks not high enough to pierce the heavens, but enough to pierce the valley. those around them are far enough away, but even still, mildain keeps his voice quiet. simply between the two of them. “…i understand your confusion. after all, a man who was pronounced dead is now standing before your very eyes.” does he wonder what absence he left, what hole in his wake? of course, he could very little be occupied with thoughts such as those in the throes of illness. (but if he did, how the other fared and if tears had been shed? what would be worse?)

near immediately after, perceval slips off blanche’s side, leaving his lance in the sheath at the saddle. still hesitant, restrained, though none could ever tell that. mildain merely had the advantage of knowing the knight in all walks of day and night and perhaps the whole of time itself. “prince mildain,” a step closer, and the knight, too, could never doubt his prince; he only thought he would not be given that luxury anymore. for moments, perceval studies the prince, searching for any indication for how he very well rose from the grave. 

blanche, though, takes the further steps closer to mildain, and presses her snout against mildain’s head, messing up his hair, but mildain only laughs, and places one hand on her nose, and the other to her cheek, softly stroking. “you missed me too, didn’t you, blanche?” she gives a little snort in response, blowing up his bangs. but he turns away from blanche to face perceval once more, smile fading to only the slightest upturn of his lips. 

would apologies mean anything? could they? 

“you were alive…?” every stone built around them comes crumbling down, even in the slight shaking of his voice. even if it is only a slight pause, the slightest faltering, and mildain would never ask of him now to cast aside those defenses both constructed. not now. 

st. elmine forgive him for the pain he has caused, for the way he has made his knight feel, for the falling of his kingdom and what he is supposed to be and cannot be. “i have troubled you for a long time now.” a long time. longer than either of them should have endured. the world could never be a kind place, he knows this more so now than he ever had before, but to be so cruel? to drive a knife in his very chest and let it bleed? mildain looks down for a moment, taking a deep breath, then looking back up (and it is up, for perceval towers over him quite well) “…it has been over a year since i was assassinated.” any smile he once held has vanished. 

“assassinated.” perceval repeats, and the word is heavy on his tongue. then repeats it once again, this time as a question. he is sharp, eyes narrowed and a fist balled at his side. “your majesty, did you not fall off your horse in an accident?”

mildain nearly laughs. 

that would be much better, wouldn’t it? no underlying meaning, no threat to his living or throne. just some foolish prince who urged his horse to gallop too fast. just some foolish prince, the kind he used to be when he only cared for the times where he could run away from the castle and play his mother’s harp in a hidden meadow. it would have been better, too, for those greedy lords. 

“no, i…” perceval deserved to know. after all that time, after that falling grace, the unsteady hand of his lance, he deserved to know. even if mildain is hesitant in speaking in it, in reliving it, but he has never had anything to keep from his knight. except for his survival. except for a year, and that is a price he is no longer willing to pay. not when perceval stands before him under the shining sun, not when perceval looks at him that way, with sorrowful eyes that mildain believes is the first time he has seen. “i was shot with a poisoned arrow. first to my horse…and then to me.” but he wants perceval to know, not because a knight deserves to know what happened to his prince, and not because he is filled with pity. because he would never stand to hide anything from perceval, because he is made better with perceval. because mildain knows that he would wish to have been at mildain’s side, and he cannot stand that thought. 

something from the knight is muttered in protest, in disbelief, but he keeps it to himself, a very feather on the wind. 

“douglas noticed first and made it public that i had been killed. a different corpse was placed in the coffin, and everything was set up as if the assassination had been successful.” mildain wonders what his funeral was like, as perceval stands in front of him. what kind of flowers were left at his grave, if his father could even visit the site. how warm were the words spoken, or were they cooled by that deepest grief. did his murderers grin in the pews, sipping their own wine from a flask. did they think themself finished once the last handful of dirt was thrown over his coffin? was st. elmine ready to meet him, only to find an imposter? did perceval- “douglas then entrusted me to his adopted daughter and let me escape to the western isles.” 

mildain takes another step forward. the world grows smaller. he wants it to until all the world falls away until it is only the two of them and the songs he would sing. 

blanche stomps one hoof on the ground, shaking her head. a few soldiers draw closer, the noise grows louder, and both knight and prince move without another glance to other. they walk close to the mountain’s base, and blanche the side toward the outside. as if a barrier had been created between the mare and the majesty. of course, others could see them. but only if they looked. 

side by side, they walk. for however much perceval tries to keep his gaze forward, he cannot keep it there. his sun rises elsewhere. 

“even after i escaped to the west, i suffered from a high fever caused by the poison for many months. i was hovering between life and death so long that douglas’ daughter gave up hope countless times.” perceval turns immediately as he finishes, but stays silent. something in mildain aches, both in the memory and in the present. it hurts him less to say it than to see it on perceval. he has lived it, remembered it, the fact of it all is not why he hesitated. it is what he imagines, instead. a dead liege is a sign of weakness enough, but to realize that a liege was suffering while one worked ignorantly? “the rebel forces helped me by giving me medicine. ironic, isn’t it?” punctuated by a bitter laugh as mildain turns away from perceval, even still some weakness held away. “the very rebels who were fighting against the etrurian court had saved the life the prince himself!” 

but mildain turns back, he could not be far from the other, not in this reunion. “i recovered…slowly. and then i saw the horrors being committed by the etrurian nobles on the isles. i was ashamed that i had not noticed when i was still residing on the throne.” did you know he might ask if he were a braver man, did you know and not tell me when i was too foolish and free but that is merely the rationalization of a weak man. to mask his faults is unfair, and he strays from it after that tiny thought. 

“your majesty…”

the two stop, and the world is now far enough behind them, standing near the very beginning of the range. there is nothing else but this moment, a moment that both of them have been waiting for, even if they did not know it. those old hearts still beat. 

“while aiding the rebels, i was looking for a chance to return to the mainland. then general roy came along, and i saw my chance. and that is how i ended up here.” his voice is finally light again, no longer burdened by world and more. one more step. 

perceval hesitates for a moment. “prince…” but resolves to take mildain’s hand in his own for the first time in more than a year. it is not cold as a dead man’s hand should be. it is warm. “i am truly thankful that you returned alive.”

a sharp inhale of breath as mildain stares at their hands for but a moment. “i am with the lycia alliance army right now, but i still must hide my true identity.” there is a plea on his voice, a plea in his eyes, and it would not be becoming of him, but there is thought to fall to his knees. “and if i still have the loyalty that you pledged to me in the past…” if he was still perceval and mildain was still himself, and they were still the same knight and same prince, and if even a thousand years could prove no hindrance to that hidden river of life. 

but it is perceval that gets down on his left knee, hand still around the other. “i am at your service, your majesty. my master is only one, and he is you, Prince Mildain.” and mildain is in awe of him; he has always been, but in this moment, he has never seen anything more beautiful. 

“you may rise, perceval.” even as the other does, he keeps their hands intertwined. he may have to memorize the feeling for he cannot be the prince for long. “we have left the field of battle for too long, don’t you think.” 

“yes, my prince.”

“elffin.” he corrects. 

“ah, yes, forgive me. elffin, of course.” 

and they return.


End file.
